Page 40 of A Man To Remember
The laughter fades gradually, but it leaves something lighter in its wake. Not happiness exactly, but relief. Like we've found some solid ground to stand on.
"So…" he finally says, his tone much lighter now, almost back to normal. "College?"
Oh, right. This again.
"I've been thinking about it for a while," I admit, settling back into the couch cushions. "Going back to school. Maybe studying social work or counseling. People who've been through shit, helping other people who are going through shit."
"That makes sense. You'd be good at that."
"You think?"
"I think you understand pain in a way that could help people. And you've got the whole older-and-wiser thing going for you now."
I snort. "Older and wiser. Right."
"I'm serious. Look at how you handled finding out about...what happened. You didn't minimize it or make excuses. You owned it completely. That takes maturity."
"I also tried to solve it with a blowjob."
"Yeah, well. Nobody's perfect."
We're both smiling now, and it feels surreal. An hour ago I was having a complete breakdown, and now we're joking about my emotional inadequacy.
"So when do you start?"
"I don't. Not yet." I fidget with the application papers. "Maybe next year. I don't feel quite ready."
"Ready for what?"
"I don't know. College. Being around all those kids who have their shit together. Sitting in classrooms, writing papers, pretending I belong there."
Austin leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Did you say that last year too?"
It's like he has this newfound ability to see right through me. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
"Yeah," I admit.
"And the year before that?"
"Probably."
"Jesse."
"I know, okay? I know I'm stalling. But what if I can't handle it? What if I get there and realize I'm too old, too behind, too fucked up to compete with eighteen-year-olds who've never made a major mistake in their lives?"
"Then you figure it out as you go. Like everyone else."
His confidence in me is baffling.
"Besides," he continues, "you won't be the oldest person there. There are lots of adult learners. People starting over, veterans, parents going back to school. You won't stick out as much as you think."
"You sound like you know what you're talking about."
"I went to art school. Trust me, weird is the norm."
The applications are still spread across my coffee table, forms half-filled out in my terrible handwriting. Personal essays started and abandoned. Transcripts request I never sent.
"I filled out the FAFSA," I offer, like it's some great accomplishment.
